


Mechanic Hearts

by glass_owl



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M, a bit science fictional, i think, larry stylinson - Freeform, niall if you squint hard enough, robotic au, ziam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-11
Updated: 2013-09-11
Packaged: 2017-12-26 07:06:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/963032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glass_owl/pseuds/glass_owl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"It's not our 'centre being', not a 'hard drive', as we've been taught. I think it's something more. I think, it's a heart. Harry, it's a heart. Like all those human bodies we've been taught about back in biology classes. There's a heart beating in all of us. Robots don't feel, that's what Liam said. But we do, so what does that make us? We're something bigger than robots, we shine brighter and think better, maybe it's a whole classification called Different. Or maybe we're human. I'm convinced we're human."</p>
<p>And well some zarry I guess, because theyre fantastic friends in this one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mechanic Hearts

**Author's Note:**

> This took ages to write, i'm not even kidding man. ;_; Well, i think the story is a little fast paced but i've never written something so lengthy before, it kinda scares me ;o; The people are a bit OOC if you ask me, but i'm quite proud of the way it turned out? Idk. Enjoy :) Comments are appreciated :)

It's a universe with unsaid emotions, where life is like a bad Habbo Hotel Game come reality. Where you can, in the short diversity of feelings, express nothing but happiness, anger, sadness and tiredness. That's the world of mechanical people, of people and hardware, of diseases and viruses, of impulses and flowing electrons.

And what if, what if it's just a belief that has taken roots into people's minds? That we are merely nothing but mechanics? What if it's merely a pseudo idea that's taken flight? What if humans and technology ideologies cross wires? 

_They're robots._

Yes, quite. But with every new person, _robot_ , comes a faulty one - a defective 'robot'. One that feels more than he's supposed to. One who sees more than he's allowed to, thinks more than what he should be thinking. One who is, by default normal, but by conventions, abnormal. Two boys are born faulty like that, one was named Harry Styles, the other Zayn Malik.

-

Harry flicks the eraser bit off the table before glancing at his best friend.

Two boys, same ages, same emotions. Harry thinks it's quite the miracle that he's found Zayn - not that he's ever felt something spectacularly drawing towards the tan boy, but there's an inexplicable link that holds them together. They're different from each other, yet similar in so many ways. And most importantly, they feel. But they don't realise that feeling is what sets them apart from the rest, to them everyone feels but it's the degree of how much better you are at hiding those emotions that matters. After all, it's a built in notion that they are robots - and it's only between them that they think the defect lies in their inability to conform.

He can still remember his youth, how his mother had gone through the daily routines like clockwork, everything in perfect order and perfect timing, never a second too late and never a minute early. As a child, it had been soothing, a daily synchronism that locks everything in place, a simplicity that's familiar and welcoming. But as the years progressed, his mother's routine had few alterations. And as the years progressed, Harry finds himself lagging, falling behind the perfect routine that he used to be so capable of.

The first few months of school had been bad. Harry remembers it clear as day - the way the people lined up in perfect queues at the canteens, how they bounced balls in perfect sync in Physical Ed classes, how everyone could solve every mathematical question within the same amount of time - everyone but him; him and Zayn. That was the very first difference, they had the innate disability to think at the same breakneck speed as all the other children. This merited detention in school and time spent in detention had been spent to drilling perfection into those less perfect than others. Of course there were several other defective ones, kids who were mentally impaired - a problem with hardwiring, they were taught in biology class.

The world is bland; there are no chirping birds nor any trilling violins. No smell of freshly baked bread or flowers in bloom. No changing of seasons, no transitions of winter to spring. Life is everyday on repeat - a broken tape recorder that can never progress. And somewhere along the lines of norm, Harry sees himself deviate, he sees himself recoil and burn at the sight of perfection - he doesn't understand what's going through everybody's mind because all the void he sees and flawless blanks that reflect on their faces, he revels that there's nothing that goes through their minds, clean slates. Tabula rasa.

The two boys understand that they're different. But they've never attributed to the way they could feel, or the way they could think. It's just how they think, a silent consensus that they've agreed on with no negotiations. Their ideals consists of two pointers: 1. They are human robots, artificial intelligence even and 2. It is without complaint that they should be as good as any other, and they should always, always, always try to keep on par no matter how defective they may be.

"Hey, Zayn, how much longer before class ends?"

Zayn does a quick check to his watch - a blue watch on his right wrist, buckle looped through the third hole, an act of conformity. Zayn is skinny, and the watch is a little loose on him, but everyone has their buckle hooked through the third hole, he isn't going to defy that. He tries to fit in, with every little detail that he's capable of forcing onto his being. It's not easy for him - he carries a ripe passion of being different, but to be different is wrong. Or that's what he's told. 

"Ten minutes. Almost there, Haz." 

"It's tomorrow." Harry whispers, his voice barely audible even in the thick silence that wreathes around the class as the teacher walks back and forth around the class, reciting reminders from a lengthy protocol list. The teacher's voice is dry and rough, but then again, all the teachers have about the same voice - grating and uncomfortable. 

"It is."

There's an explosion of feeling in Harry's chest, his centre being beating in his ribs in a kind of joy and anticipation. This is a feeling Harry associates with excitement. It takes a while, and whiles longer for the duo, but each eighteen year old child is drilled in with every definition of the basic English words. They don't necessarily understand, some words more incomprehensible than others, words like 'fun' and 'outer space' among the list. There's no room for imagination in their society. In school, no one learns beyond what they need, and they will continue specialized learning after Job Specialization day. And it's tomorrow, their job allocation begins tomorrow. 

The bells ring, a solid chime once, resonance should not carry more than ten kilometres. Every day the bell is hit with the same strength, rings with the same vibrancy and fades out at the same distance. Harry hates it, except for the fact that it signals the end of a schooling day. It is with much practice that both Harry and Zayn pile out of the class in a single file like the rest of the kids in class. In their whole society, only the teachers can see deviations, identify those who are slightly different. Their aim is absolute: to remove (no one ever knows what happens to these beings) anyone who seem like a threat to their world, children who think too far and who would grow up into idealistic _people_ who desire a change. It is a form of regulatory checks, there should be no one past the age of 18 who can think or feel or imagine. It had become a sole purpose of both Harry and Zayn to make it past schooling before they can exit into the working world. It had been their goal to actually graduate, because past schools, there would be no one - absolutely no one - who could see their apparent difference.

In school, both boys force themselves in line. Slow they may be, but they have practices their way to ensure that nothing else stood out. Eighteen years of silently bending their ways to fit in and one more day to freedom. They trudge up the spick walkways, void of litter and cracks in the pavement. They're neighbours, their houses exact replicas, so the walk home is always with each other's company. 

"What job do you think you'd get tomorrow?" Zayn quips. 

"I don't know. I hope it isn't too bad though." There's almost nothing to worry about in their flawless world, and those who were incapable of feeling more than they should, never felt what it is like to worry in the first place. But for Harry, job allocations is something to worry about. 

"I see myself working as an understudy for a depot manager," Zayn sighs.

"Why?"

"No reason. Just a feeling. You?"

"Uhm... Maybe an average worker at some producing company."

Zayn snorts. "You're not very ambitious are you?"

"Well we're not exactly perfect copies of what we're expected to be. We'd probably be looked down on because we're a bit slow."

"We're not a bit slow. We're super slow."

Harry gently shoves Zayn in the shoulder before letting out a bark of laughter. The laughter echoes eerily through the quiet avenue.

"Laughing," Zayn states. Harry nods. They're in awe every time an emotion slips past their façade of indifference. And to place a vocabulary to every new emotion they display, it feels kind of magical for them. There's almost a limit of things they can feel, circumstances don't seem to allow any emotion to show, and there's definitely nothing from their other dead panned peers. They only have each other, each other to count on and each other to confide in, each other to learn and experiment with.

"Happiness," Harry says before breaking into a smile, full grin tugging at his lips.

"For the first time," Zayn agrees, flashing a sunny smile. 

It's been a long wait before they can finally be set free from watchful eyes. Eighteen years has been a long time, and even if they don't get the same job, they're still neighbours and that means they wouldn't be completely out of touch. They'd still have each other, and that reassures them enough. 

"I'll see you tomorrow," Zayn whispers quietly before the two part ways to their respective homes. They're eighteen with a new world to face and they're going to live, even if it means living in a place that's stock full of things who can only show four emotions on rare occasions or otherwise never at all.

-

They're in school half past seven, no earlier and no later. Okay, the boys may have been a bit earlier - they're quite incapable of arriving to school on the dot, so they always leave home ten minutes earlier than they should, reach school five minutes earlier than everybody else and hide in the shrubs until the other students start to walk in. They then join the crowd and slip in with everyone else. 

They're in the classroom at half past eight, seated quietly as the teacher walks in, high heels clacking; one, two, one, two. There's no time wasted, she reveals a handful of ID cards before she starts to walk down the rows. Harry watches as she places ID cards of all sorts of colours on the desks, before intoning a "well placed" or a "this job is suited for you" and then walking on. It's not long before it's his turn.

The teacher places a green card on his table, the plastic makes a soft sound as it slaps the surface of the table. Harry swallows, he reaches for his card, anticipation building in his chest. He slides the card across the desk surface over to himself before squinting down at his card. His name and job is imprinted in large, bold, black letters. The words slam like a finality blow and practically knocks the breath out of him. Harry can't help the disappointment that stirs inside him. _Dumpster Aide_ , it read. Harry hears his teacher grate out a "well placed" to him before she glides on to Zayn. Harry wants to hit her.

They aren't released immediately. The teacher reveals a fresh scroll, where students are required to sign their names. An agreement for students to always stand by their jobs. When the scroll reaches Harry, it's the first time he's seen his classmate's handwritings. The similarity is terrifying - Harry makes it an effort to carve out his name in a similar penmanship. He realizes that handwriting itself must have given him and Zayn away through all those eighteen years.

When the scroll is done, the teacher walks them through a list of things to prepare for the next day. Harry doesn't listen. That's all they do before they're released. For the first time, Harry goes home without Zayn - he doesn't wait for his friends, doesn't quite wait for the class to pile out in single file, and practically rushes home. Not that it is very much a home to Harry.

-

It's in the middle of the night, 10pm thereabout, when Harry climbs out of his balcony and onto the tree that steeples between his and Zayn's room. He swings himself over, listening to the soft rustling of leaves and admiring the waxy, candle tinted beams that comes from the moon. He leaps off the tree and lands square in Zayn's balcony. It's been that way for a long time; they break national curfew by seeing each other in the depths of the nights but no one ever catches them at it. Sometimes they stay over and have breakfast over, nothing changes though, because their parents don't exactly see - they only carry out the necessary motions of everyday.

Harry knocks tentatively on the glass door, keeps knocking until Zayn slides it open to let him in. Zayn has a gaunt look on his face, full of weary and a subtle hint of disappointment. 

"Hey," Harry breathes. Solemnity is apparent through the single word, and Zayn dips his head in greetings, stepping aside to let Harry in. "I'm sorry about today."

"Guilt?" Zayn tags the emotion immediately.

"Yeah. I guess it is. It's not really fun to label emotions by myself."

"The same goes for me." Zayn shakes his head, his hair swishing in lieu with his movements. He walks over to his bed. "Something the matter?"

Zayn crawls back into bed before motioning for Harry to join him. They've often shared close intimacy since their first few meetings; there had never been anyone who told them what they did was wrong, or strange. No one to tell them off for indecencies or the likes, but they're like close knit brothers, and such intimacy just seemed natural. So Harry crawls in with Zayn, pulling the duvet up to his chin.

" I think I'm nervous actually," Harry whispers. "I'm not sure what to expect from tomorrow."

"Nervous. What does it feel like?"

"There's a thrumming in your chest, and you just can't keep still. Like every resting position is just so uncomfortable, and constant movement kinda makes you feel better."

Zayn nods decisively. "I think I felt nervousness today." 

The silence that settles is comforting. They stay like that for a while, looking each other in the eye, taking the comfort in. Harry's not sure how much time he'd be able to spend with Zayn once they begin their new schedules; he needs some constant tethering to sanity and without Zayn, he's not sure how that would be possible.

"I wish we could hear cicadas. Do you remember that book we read in English class? The girl talks about sounds at night, she talked about cicadas."Zayn says offhandedly.

"What job did you get?" Harry drops the bomb first.

"Well, it's not what I hoped for. Quite the let down, really. I think I'd tag this emotion with disappointment. Or maybe it's just plaintive sadness, but sadness isn't very descriptive so..."

"Mine killed me."

"Couldn't be worse than mine."

"Wanna bet?"

"I got engineering. I'm not even good with my hands. I'm supposed to help with the cleaning of greasy machines for the entire day. An entire day on repeat for the rest of my life. Unless they want me to become a Parent, then I'd be moved to another house, new house but same job. I'm not even sure how being a Parent works, anyhow."

"I won't let you move." It's a lot to think about, but being too far away from Zayn might make him go crazy. Zayn is Harry's one and only legit friend, the loneliness and boredom might kill him if the government does not.

"What about you, Haz?"

"Dumpster Aide."

Zayn probably didn't know what to say, because he just lies there, allowing his eyes to flutter shut for a moment. He exhales loudly, then reaches for Harry's hand before giving it a tight squeeze. "Sorry."

"Don't be. I'm probably going to skimp off work 'cause no one will realise. Only teachers ever know. Just promise we'd see each other as often as we can. "

"It's a promise. Breakfast at mine?"

Harry nods. 

They lie like that until one drifts off to sleep. The other watches over until he too goes into deep slumber. It's peaceful in the room, and it's a perfect night. A perfect night that brings the light of a new day, a future with unpredictable outcomes and opportunities.

-

The subway is packed with people. The seats are occupied by alternating males and females, and everybody standing, faces a single direction. Harry squeezes in between two other teenage boys, both holding onto handles overhead with the same arm, legs slightly parted at the same width. Harry belches silently, before grabbing onto a pole nearby. He does it unknowingly, but before long, he's facing the same direction as everyone else - grabbing onto whatever with the same hand. The train ride continues like that.

He takes the shuttle buses next. There's a bunch of other kids his age, standing in clothes a little too big for them, waiting for the shuttles. He isn't a horrible person, but Harry can't help but groan inwardly when he sees the kind of beings he'd be working with; beings who looked a little low on IQ and a bit tough to deal with, especially when his temper is frayed. 

The bus trundles right out of the city state and pass through iron wrought gates that looks like it could go for a new coat of iron plating. The gates swings in, screeching as it does so. The sound produces goose pimples along his skin, his hair standing on ends at the gross sound. When he alights the bus, the there are two things that hit him: 1. The sounds the incinerator makes beyond the hills of dump can be heard from the main gates and 2. The putrid stench.

The check in counters are, by far, the most advanced thing at the House. The House is typically an area where their gears are kept, where they clock in for lunch hour and check out after working hours. The check in counters are round metals bases where he's required to place his ID card in a designated square to check in. The machines stows away his card for safe keeping until he checks it out by pressing a button at the side tables. Harry would be lying if he said he wasn't fascinated.

Nothing catches Harry's attention as much as when the head of his group arrives. The boy is about two years older, with beautiful sky eyes that are shrouded with clouds of mystery. He's got a well shaped face and prominent jaws, though not as prominent and nice as Zayn's. His voice though, is honey, it soothes the ear when nothing else does in the ramshackle House and burning incinerator. Harry sits there a bit dumbly as he watches the head clear his throat.

"Everyone!" He bellows, a voice stronger than what Harry imagines. "I'm Louis Tomlinson, you address me as Sir and nothing more or less. As beginners, we'll keep you strictly within Area A today. It is now ten hundred hours and we will dispatch you to your work stations. Today you will be in charge of sorting through trash and organizing them into plastics, metals and paper. A refresher course on "What is Plastic or Paper or Metal" will start at ten hundred and ten hours in this central white space in Area A. You'll be sitting on the ground, so if you're worried about soiling your pretty bottoms, get something to sit on. Clock back at thirteen hundred hours for lunch. Lunch break will be an hour long and food will be provided-"

Harry notes the word "worried" dully, before he tunes out. He's not exactly thrilled to work, plus he's already planned on bunking off. He's doesn't think he needs to listen if he doesn't intend on working. He busies himself with the dirt under his nails instead, trying to rid the gross things that are left under there. He doesn't quite pays attention, but can't help the soft voice in his head going _"that guy has character, that guy has sass"._

-

Harry has never seen so much trash before. There's mountains upon mountains, and he's in complete awe as he stares up the mountains that surround him. He had separated from the group the minute they had left the House. He nicked a map of Area A for safety measures, in case he gets lost. He tries not to wander too far.

He's not really sure if he should be calling all these trash, worthless garbage. Because there are things upon things that he's never seen before, things he's read in books back in literature class, that he's never heard of before. There's a radio, he's never seen anything like it. It's nothing like he's ever imagined, but he recognizes the dials on them just like in the books. There's a lot of gunk as well, banana peels rotting to a horrendous charcoal hue and broken sofas with springs poking out of the cushion seats comically. 

Harry sits himself on the ground, right next to a heap, before he starts to rummage around the thrown out trash and uncovers things he'd never thought would ever exist. He thinks of Zayn and wonders if there's anything worth taking home for his friend. He surfaces books he's never knew existed, books that have never been in use at schools. Story books that have survived through the ages. The pages are slightly worn but still intact, the spines a bit crumbly but will suffice. 

The place becomes a treasure trove for Harry. He turns over each prize he attains in his hands, traces his fingers over a wooden doll he's pulled out from the pile. The paint is peeling, and the faint lines that are characteristic of wood products stand out stronger than the fading paint. The doll's shape is still there though, the hands and face still in perfect curvature. There's something beautiful and drawing about it. He's never seen such a thing being sold in stores. The doll is vintage at best. He's lost in the profound beauty of something so simplistic, he thinks to himself that maybe he should take it home, washing it would clean it fair enough and-

"What, pray tell, are you doing here?"

Harry jerks and lets out a curse word under his breath - something he's read from a forbidden book that he and Zayn had found one day during break. The book had been sandwiched between the narrow space of a pillar and a wall, and it had been, by far, the most innovative book he's ever read, taking the readers to a place far from home and into another realm that seemed relatively happy. 

Only an idiot would have failed to identify that voice. Harry's heart hammers in his chest, stunned into silence by momentary shock. He has never ever, ever expected someone to catch him outside of school, especially not during his first day on the job. Harry, although not as quick, is no idiot, so he swallows thickly before he turns and says, " Hi." He adds a "Mr. Tomlinson" as an afterthought. 

"Not Mr. Tomlinson, you nincompoop. Sir. Were you not paying attention to my introductory speech this morning?"

"Uhm..." Harry bites his lower lip. "I was?"

The Tomlinson kid rolls his eyes. He shakes his head sadly and takes a few steps closer to Harry, blue eyes glinting in the glaring sunlight. His lips quirks to the side, as he takes in the sight of Harry on the floor, fingers wrung around the wooden doll and if this isn't the most pathetic picture he's ever seen.

"Come on kiddo, back to the rest of the group."

_Wait, what?_ Harry thinks. He says "I'm not a kid! I'm bloody eighteen!" instead.

Harry's not sure where all that indignant passion came from, but he's pretty sure he's made a fatal mistake by standing up to the head honcho. Somewhere in the depths of his mind, Harry is silently pinning the blame on the wooden doll that's his hands are closing around painfully.

The boy opposite nods, his gaze growing slightly distant, lost in thought. He sits himself on a punctured tire and eyes Harry carefully and introduces himself again. "Fair enough. Nice to meet you, I'm Louis. Loo-ee."

"Harry. And I'm not stupid, I heard you the first time."

Louis shrugs. "You're defective though."

Harry blinks. He's shocked by the words but not exactly hurt by them. They don't sting much, and Harry thinks that the inner meanness of Louis has just failed to cause him distress. The realisation dawns on him though, that if Louis can see him - can actually register the fact that he has strayed away - that must mean that there's something not quite right with Louis himself. Harry also recalls the single offhand word that Louis had let slip that very morning, no one is actually supposed to feel worried, so to put the word 'worry' into a speech like that, must mean something. Right? Harry takes a chance. "So are you."

Louis narrows his eyes, before flicking his head and swinging his fringe out of his eyes. There's a mischievous glint in his eyes that speaks volumes. But Louis' voice is cold when he says, " Get back in line, Harry. There's role call at 11 o'clock, if you're not there, others will catch wind on your disappearing acts." Harry's pretty sure they won't notice though.

"Don't you mean, eleven hundred hours?" Harry teases sublimely. It's probably the wrong thing to say, because Louis' eyes become hard flints, and the mild humouristic sarcasm disappears altogether. 

"Move. _Now._ "

_Angry, definitely angry_ , Harry thinks before he scuttles off, the wooden doll still in his hands.

-

"And you're eating our food despite skivvying off work and hiding among the mountain of discarded patchwork quilts."  
Harry looks up to see Louis standing over head, hands on hips, blue eyes clear as day. He's got a mouthful of food in his mouth, and he doesn't make an effort to swallow before he speaks. "Haidn ith tarring." 

They both watch as little flecks of rice and vegetable fly from Harry's mouth, and Harry could almost laugh at the stupidity of the situation. Louis quirks an eyebrow and snorts. Harry doesn't want to speculate what the rest of his life would be like from here on out; a crappy job to sustain and a cranky leader at the lead. He takes a swallow, before he reiterates his point. "Hiding is tiring."

Louis rolls his eyes. "Well, get in line then, soldier."

"'m not a soldier."

"You're a Dumpster Soldier. We're the brave souls who walks into the war zone that is our wasteland, daily. Except you cut duty and slack in corners where you think I can't see."

A smirk pulls at the corners of Louis' lips, and Harry thinks that Louis would look better - gorgeous even - with a full blown smile, and bright blue eyes that sparkle with life intelligence.

"I await the day you report me to higher ranking officials."

The conversation stops there, almost abruptly, because Louis opens and closes his mouth as if there's something he's planning on saying but thinks better of it before turning tails and walking across the room to another empty seat. It occurs to Harry that perhaps Louis had wanted to have lunch with him. He lets out a sharp guffaw at that thought though, because seriously? Him? And the head? Having lunch together? _Don't make me laugh_ , Harry thinks bitterly before he takes another spoonful of rice. He can't help but sneak a quick glance at Louis - the only thing he can see from this distance is the soft shimmer of a pendant that Harry has never noticed before.

-

Zayn stops by at 11.30 that night, knuckles rapping gently on the glass panes, requesting entrance and presence. When Harry pulls back the shades, and opens the sliding door to let his friend in, Zayn slips in with a grin from ear to ear.

"Yo," he says, taking off his shoes and leaving them out on the balcony before he steps into Harry's room. It's quiet except the whirring of the fans. There's a shine on his face that's comparable to the bursting brightness of the moon. 

"You seem hype," Harry comments, because he really didn't expect Zayn to take his job so well. There's a small side of him that burns with an unpleasant hate, a gripping kind of anger that makes him wonder why he's the only one who's so unhappy when they're supposed to be in this together. They're supposed to suffer together until they die out or something inane along those lines, that's the promise of two foolish boys still in their prime.

"I am, Harry, I found someone who's exactly like us. He's a bit shy and gosh, you should meet him." Zayn gushes, and there's some spark to him that Harry has never seen before, it makes him worry a bit. Insecurity creeps in, hateful thoughts on how he'd be replaced by someone who's going to spend every waking day being Zayn's friend while he, Harry Styles, would be half way across the city, no doubt, sorting through this mysterious boy's trash. He's not jealous, just a bit scared of being left all alone. A bit. _Yeah, right._

Harry sits by the edge of his bed and motions for Zayn to join him. "Tell me about him, Zayn. He ignites a passion in you that I'm curious to discover. I think I'd label your extreme passion as 'fervor'."

Zayn laughs but sidles up close, and draws in his knees. He takes a deep breath and says, "Well, the engineering building is shit. It's really crappy, the building's all greasy and sick and it smells of oil and grinding metals. It's all smoky in there and bloody hot too."

"Deviating from the topic," Harry comments. Zayn huffs in response.

"Was getting to that. Let me start from the beginning, okay."

"Is it going to be a long, grandmother story?"

"The story will take as long as it will take," Zayn snorts, tone sharp. "Anyway, like I said, the place is disgusting. Literally crawling with aged slime and grease. It smells like a bad burger joint, where they reuse the oil ten times over before they throw it out. Except it's not cooking oil in the factory, they use thick lubricating oil and it's really gross. Today, the sector head, we call him Paulo - I don't even know why, that's not even his name - took us on this little tour around the building. I got to slack off quite a lot today. 

"So I was there, and I started to wonder what kind of life I'd have if I were to do this job for the next 60 years or so of my life. It was a bad revelation, I got kind of upset and started to lag behind the touring crew. But you know how nobody really sees you when you do something different, yeah, the whole tour just proceeded like I hadn't fallen behind at all. I got lost at some point and then I ran into another tour group. I figured I should just join them, get back to the main circle, maybe find my own group once the tour was up. But then someone noticed me, and I really thought I was a goner. You have no idea what it feels like to get caught by someone who isn't a teacher."

Harry thinks back to his experience. Sitting amongst the garbage, and the wooden doll. And then Louis, of course. That boy sees him too. Harry shudders, he knows the feeling quite well himself, and the heart attack onslaught that had come on when Louis had spotted him was something Harry didn't want to revisit.

"Tell me about it," Harry whispers. It's a statement that hints at something and Zayn quirks an eyebrow.

"Someone could see you?"

"Something like that. But I'll tell you about that later. Tell me about what happened at your industry. What happened next? Who's this person who sees you?"

Zayn nods. "Yeah, okay. So I'm just standing there, a little lost when I catch sight of someone looking straight at me. He's not in the usual industry get up, and he was part of the next touring crew. So I thought, if I could stay still for awhile, maybe the whole gang would move on, and maybe that boy who seems to stare right at me would disappear with the rest. Except he stops, pretends to tie his laces while the whole tour group just carries on. And suddenly, it was just the two of us.

"It was quite awkward, because we both didn't know whether we could trust the other but he caved in first. His name's Liam. Liam Payne, Boy from Avenue 5. What Avenue are we in again, Harry?"

"I didn't know we had avenues. But apparently we do."

"Liam tells me interesting things, Haz. You should hear him speak. It's like he's read the secrets to the world. He's like a hidden encyclo-thing that the teachers wouldn't let us touch in schools. What's it called again? Encycloclo?"

"I think it was called an encyclopaedia."

"Right, that. But Liam, he's quiet and talks in riddles and says strange things. It makes me think."

"What does he say?"

Zayn rounds on him immediately, eyes wide with wonder and deep thoughts. He practically glimmers in the dim lighting of the room, and Harry cringes a bit. One day sure does a lot for Zayn. 

"He says, Harry, this is what he says. Liam says that communication makes people feel Harry, imagine what it'd be like if we never met each other. We'd be like everybody else. We'd be conforming, we'd be boring, we'd be insane."

"What does that mean though?" Harry can't quite wrap his head round that logic. Communication makes people feel? What kind of farce is that?

"I dunno. But I should ask him again sometime. He's quite the mysterious lad. I'll find out some more and get back to you some. But anyway, enough about me. How was your first day?"

Harry recounts his day, starting with the subway and ending with Louis. He doesn't tell Zayn that he sees something more in Louis, a kind of startling brightness and livelihood almost akin to theirs. Instead, he prattles on about the heaps of treasures mounted at the dumpsters and the wooden doll he's found (and is currently stowed away in a chest), Harry makes a promise to a sleepy Zayn about bringing a gift from the dumpsters, as silly as it sounds. He's not sure if Zayn registers though, because when Harry checks on him, the boy is fast asleep, sprawled out on Harry's bed.

-

The days that pass by are almost as droll and mundane as the first one. Harry's aware of Louis following his every movement. In the past few weeks, Louis had dragged Harry out of tottering stacks of uncovered books still salvageable, found Harry hiding in a crummy blanket fort that's coated with layers of dirt. Harry's sitting underneath all the cloth, torchlight in hand and a picture book in his hands. When Louis had found him then, the first thing Harry had said had been " Did you know there are places called America and Canada? I wonder where that is."

Harry becomes a hoarder. He brings home whatever he can stuff into the pathetic excuse of a pocket his jeans provides. Sometimes he takes home postcards, sometimes its awkward shoes of eccentric designs. Not that he uses them though. He puts them on display along the shelves back home. He tries to take home entire books, but to take home the book in its entirety at one go seems a little far-fetched, so instead, he tears out chapters on consecutive days and collates them back home. Harry doesn't quite read the wordy books though, he prefers those with pictures really, but it's always good to keep some at home in case Zayn ever wants a read.

"You're never going to really do work, are you?" Louis comments. It's been eight weeks into the job, and Harry still hasn't gotten a decent task done.

"Nope." Harry doesn't quite pay attention.

"Why n-"

"What's this?" Louis watches as Harry picks up an item (a party popper to be precise - not that Louis would know, he's never seen one before) off the pile of trash. He watches as Harry turns the little popper in his hands, staring at the string that just begs to be pulled. Harry grins up at him. "I've never seen anything like this before. How does it work?"

"I don't know. It looks harmless though. We really shouldn't play with trash. I mean, there's a reason it's there in the first place."

It is without intention that Harry has the popper aimed right at Louis, and it's just as accidental when Harry tugs at the string, sending off streamers of bright pink, blue, and white, to shower over Louis. Harry watches as a frown tugs at the corner of Louis' lips, but the scene is hilarious, the disapproving expression just so ridiculous amidst the party streamers that could pass as a wig on Louis' head. There's a tiny fit of giggles before pure laughter bubbles from Harry's lips and he's never felt humour this strong before, it almost seems as if he's going hysterical.

The laughter echoes around the city dumpster, the only live sound amidst all the mechanic churns of gears. It takes a while before Harry realizes that Louis too, is laughing. He chokes on his laughter, before the light hearted sound just dies on his lips as he watch Louis' shoulders tremble in laughter, and that sound, that perfect laughter, sounding almost too sweet to be true. 

When Louis stops laughing, he wipes a tear from his eye. "What is this?" he asks, because no emotion he has ever felt had been as powerful as this.

"You're laughing," Harry gasps, incredulous, unbelieving. "You can actually laugh!"

Louis' face falls. "I can't laugh. I'm not allowed to - no wait, I'm not supposed to."

Harry grins. He hasn't seen Zayn for ages ( two months to be exact) and his only company had been the grouch called Louis Tomlinson for days on ends, and suddenly Harry sees a little more in Louis. And he likes what he's seeing. There's almost a new blossoming sphere of hope in his chest, though he can't quite understand what's there to be hopeful about.

"I'm going to continue looking for more fun things to fool around with," Harry says. He turns away to another pile of trash and fishes out thrown out Chinese takeaways ("Eeww.") and a yo-yo ("What's this?"). It's almost music to his ears when he hears Louis moving over to pick offhandedly at the surface of the rubbish mountains. He plucks at crumpled pieces of paper before tossing them away.

"The treasures are usually deep into the these hills of garbage," Harry says. "If you want to find something worth exploring, you gotta punch your hands right in and grab a fistful of junk. Sometimes you get gross grime though, like that Chinese takeaway." He demonstrates, and withdraws his hand, fist closed around odd objects.

"Look, there's a metal ring here. Someone must have been fat enough to need a ring this big for marriage." Harry dangles the ring (key ring, really) in front of Louis. "And it's golden too."

"You talk too much."

Harry notes the smile though, almost childlike and innocent. And he was right, that full blown smile perfects the fine features of his face, brings out the perfection in Louis. And as Harry watches a whole world of awe and wonder unfold for Louis, somewhere in the back of Harry's mind, _he thinks communication makes people feel_. 

-

Five months pass and Harry still has not heard from Zayn. It's the third day of the fourth month, and Harry's lying in bed, fresh out of the showers, lost in deep thoughts. Of course he knows shouldn't be the one waiting for Zayn to come around all the time, but Zayn always seem to never be there. There's no tell-tale sign of lights in the bedroom, or the soft sound or running water in the showers. The draperies are never pulled back, and it seems to be dark forever beyond those shades. Zayn most probably would be in when it's dark, and Harry could always go check when it's lights out and late night where Zayn can't be anywhere else except for home, but there's one thing that bothers Harry. And that is the fear Harry would feel if he discovered that Zayn isn't home, that he hasn't returned since forever. Harry couldn't deal with that just yet.

He doesn't quite dwell on it much though. They're not Siamese twins, not joined at the hip or stitched together by the arm. They're bound to drift at some point, though it just didn't seem likely. Not in their world of cold animosity of self indulgence from robots all around; robots who do what they need and must without a second glance for anyone else. But Harry tries to rationalise, Zayn has met this Liam person, who seems to be just the friend Zayn needs. Perhaps drifting isn't that hard after all. 

Then Harry thinks of Louis and that tussle of walnut cum almond brown hair that spike in all directions. He thinks of the beautiful azure eyes that Louis has, and the perfect complexion. He thinks of how Louis has that air about him, fearless and commanding, yet, when he's together with Harry, there seems to be a fragility in his heart that Harry just can't put a name to. 

There's an odd fluttering in his heart these days when he thinks of Louis. He's almost looking forward to working each day, partly because he can just bunk off when he feels like it. But nothing seems quite as fun as playing mockery with Louis, discovering dazzling objects and just lounging out when everyone else is sorting garbage or managing the incinerator. 

That night, Harry grabs a piece of twine he's found at the dumpster, a paper, a pen and the golden ring he found weeks ago. He climbs onto the tree that stands between their balcony, then climbs onto a lower branch that hangs over Zayn's balcony. He ties the twine round the key ring and then ties the other end onto a low lying branch, then Harry sticks a note through the ring (" Found this for you, not sure what it is, but it's pretty awesome don't you think? -H") in the hopes that it wouldn't be blown away, before he leaves it dangling over Zayn's balcony.

He crawls back to his room, and goes to bed. He has to step over piles of odd materials that have swallowed his floor, leaving close to no room for him to step on. His room is a cluster now, but it's okay. Because each piece of treasure he brings home is steeped in memories and fun that he's had. There's only a missing character in his life right now, and he wants to bring him back. He hopes the key ring would be gone by tomorrow, a signal that Zayn's been home. 

\- 

The key ring doesn't disappear for the next ten days, but by the eleventh, it has disappeared from the branch. 

But it's enough, the key ring works like a charm and it summons Zayn over. It's late night when Zayn taps on Harry's window. The sound of knuckles gently tapping on glass reminds Harry of the tree branches whipping against his window, so it takes more than five good raps before Harry decides to check out the noise. When he discovers it's Zayn, Harry is transported back to a time when they were still kids at school, busy breaking union curfews just to see each other late into the night or two do homework together.

"Where have you been?" Harry asks, because really. His closest friend in the universe, the person who he's regarded with close affinity ever since young, has been missing for nearly half a year. And if not for Louis, Harry would probably have lost it by now. It was supposed to be the two of them against the world. 

"I've got a lot of things to say, Haz. Can I come in?" 

They lie side by side on Harry's bed on cream sheets and bed spreads. 

"Hi," Zayn says.

"Hello."

Zayn moves a bit, digs into his pocket and pulls the golden ring out. "Liam says this is a key ring. His sister used to have one. Apparently she worked for the Higher Ups. Whoever they are. He won't tell me much."

"What's a key ring for?"

"Well, I guess you carry keys together. Liam says I should bear a hole through my ID card and loop it through the key ring."

"Oh." Harry's pretty much out of words to say and all he hears is Liam, Liam, Liam and if Harry's honest with himself, he'd say that it's beginning to grate on his nerves. "Where have you been?"

"Why don't you guess?"

"Believe me, I've tried imagining places you could be but I don't think there's anywhere else you can be."

"At Liam's." Harry is stupefied. Liam must mean a lot to Zayn if it means Zayn refusing to return home in favour of staying with Liam. Harry feels betrayal threatening to turn his mood black, he restrains himself before he rolls Zayn off his bed.

"Harry, I've been thinking a lot ever since Liam." Zayn says, his voice light.

Harry cringes slightly at that statement. Again with Liam. He's never met Liam, but there's something inside of him that just doesn't seem to agree with Zayn about Liam. Jealous, Harry pins. He shouldn't be though, because he only feels platonic brotherly love for Zayn but it still hurts every time Zayn goes on about Liam.

"What's on your mind?"

"It's just a thought, okay. But I don't know. Don't laugh. But what if we're human, Harry? Just, what if?" Zayn says, inaudible, quiet as a mouse. 

Harry blinks in horror and surprise. The thought catches him off guard, completely taken aback. Five months of separation, and when he finally gets to meet Zayn, this is what happens. He's not sure whether he should approve the train of thought or smack some sense into his friend. They're robots, that's what they have been for nearly their entire life. To just dismiss the idea, like it was nothing to ever begin with, it seems to Harry that Zayn is breaking the fundamental basic understanding that had been the core of their knowledge. 

"Zayn, we're robots, humanoids. Not people. Not human." The words tumble out of Harry's mouth in the characteristic slowness that Harry sports.

"But Harry, robots don't feel. They don't think!" There are stars in Zayn's eyes, his mind taking flight, churning out infinite ideas. There's a smile that graces his features, a smile that is lovely and nice. Happiness lights up his face with serene grace and innocence in abundance reflects off those chestnut eyes that always carry too many emotions."There's something in us Harry, something over here."

He places a hand over his chest and speaks earnestly, his voice rising in pitch by a single note. "It's not our 'centre being', not a 'hard drive', as we've been taught. I think it's something more. I think, it's a heart. Harry, it's a heart. Like all those human bodies we've been taught about back in biology classes. There's a heart beating in all of us. Robots don't feel, that's what Liam said. But we do, so what does that make us? We're something bigger than robots, we shine brighter and think better, maybe it's a whole classification called Different. Or maybe we're human. I'm convinced we're human."

Zayn's face shines with a megawatt brilliance. Harry swallows. Zayn's thinking too far, too out of reach. "Crazy," Harry says, throat slightly dry and raspy. He watches as Zayn's face falls a fraction.

"You think so?"

"I'm pretty sure we can't be human. I mean, it's common knowledge that we're robotic beings. There's nothing in us."

"I feel though, so many emotions. So many emotions trapped and felt. You feel them too, don't you?"

Harry nods dumbly. He thinks of Louis and his smirk, his unruly hair and bright eyes. There's something drawing about Louis that keeps him sane. And it seems to him, that Louis too feels, feels more than he's supposed to. Just like them. It hits Harry immediately that Louis has been the one keeping him firmly down to earth rather than Zayn, and it very much feels as if Zayn's floating, floating away.

"Love," Zayn says softly, breaking Harry out of his reverie.

"What?"

"Love, Harry. Love for you and Liam. You guys are my everything. Thank you."

"Appreciation?"

Just like that, they're sent back to a time that's just like their school days. When all they ever had to worry about was getting caught for being different, where they'd identify every emotion together. Where it was them against the world. But now they're drifting apart, and Harry wants to cling onto as much of Zayn as he can, afraid of losing him. So that night, he twists his fingers into the fabric of Zayn's shirt and never lets go. 

-

Harry's in the subway, eye's heavy with sleep, mind dozing off. He had woken up in the morning to find that Zayn had already left. Their meeting had almost seemed like a dream, and if Harry didn't remember that the metal ring was called a key ring, he would have guessed that the meeting really was indeed nothing more than a figment of his imagination. _He probably went off to find Liam again_ , Harry thinks sully. 

There's something churning in Zayn's head, a catastrophe waiting to be unleashed. And Harry can't help but feel as if Zayn is spiralling out of control. He's thinking independently, and that's enough for Harry to realise that things are starting to get ugly from here on out.

-

The whole troop of dumpster aides are taken out back from the incinerator. There's a gushing river that's slick with oil and layered with gross things that Harry can't imagine. He's never seen water so polluted and dirty like that.

They're supposed to sort out the trash near the river. Something about materials that can decompose and materials that can't. Harry didn't listen, he's not intent on doing work anyway. Instead he takes Louis' hand and pulls him away, a secret escapade to do things that's more fun and just more worthwhile. 

He doesn't think twice when he does that. He's so accustomed to Louis - to have Louis keep an eye on him or sometimes just make a fool of themselves together. He doesn't think Louis' aware of the drastic change that has taken place, but he's not one to remind Louis. There's still that secret cavernous hole inside Louis that's still as mysterious as it ever was. 

Instead, Harry concentrates on the burning sensation of Louis' skin under his fingertips and the little silver explosions of firework joy that bursts in his chest every time they make contact. He revels at how light Louis is on his feet, easy to pull around. It's a feeling Harry can't identify with, but he's in no rush to figure it out.

Louis tugs them to a halt at the wayside of the churning river. Their hands are still interlinked and neither makes a move to let go.

"This place," Louis says, "it's linked to every single place in our city. Did you know that?"

Harry, in all honesty, couldn't care less. But a pretence of a sense of intrigue never hurts anyone. "Really?"

"Yeah. Did you know, that if anyone was caught prisoner - not that it ever happens - we'd be able to access the cells from the sewage river? Of course that means fighting the currents and being swathed in filthy water but, it's always good to know."

"How do you know all this?"

"... I've studied the maps." Louis shrugs. "Nothing to it."

Harry thinks it's another sliver of information that Louis just won't let up on. He doesn't press for more though, he lets it slide and instead, allows Louis to guide them towards the biggest mattress hill in the dumpster. They make idle talk along the way, and all the while, Harry just watches the way Louis' muscles shifts under the white fabric and hideous blue overalls.

-

Louis has warmed up to Harry a considerable bit ever since Harry's first day there. They've done quite a lot of stupid things together, and he can't help but love the sedated look in Harry's green eyes that seem to spell out boredom. He adores the bright spark that spurs Harry into life at the mere mention of adventures or escaping from work. There's a brilliant charm to Harry that just coaxes him into tagging along and fooling around. 

But he's not ready to share everything yet. There's still a pride in him that tells him that he is normal, another working robot in the crowd. Where he's perfectly normal and has nothing to hide. There's a problem though, because with every waking day Louis spends with Harry; Louis feels the walls tearing down and the ice shards in his chest thawing. He makes sure, though, that the locket is forever tucked close to his skin. Where the cool metal is a soothing remedy to his mind. 

Somewhere along the lines, Louis starts to understand that he's different. But he can't be. He has to be like everyone else. He has to be perfect.

-

Zayn doesn't stop by anymore. The last time he does, there's fire to his soul and his passion is ignited. His eyes are a flurry of desire and want, with so much he wants to conquer and so many things he wants to change and fix. 

There's a mad frenzy in his eyes, and Harry thinks that Zayn has lost it. He can't see a single resemblance of the boy who he used to go to school with, or the boy who had come into the world with dreams in his eyes, and silver studded words of hope. 

When Zayn speaks, he sounds far away, mental even. All the ideas taken flight, drifting too far from reality but somehow Zayn doesn't let go. So he says, "Harry, I want change."

"What are you talking about?"

"Liam won't help me. I felt quite let down by that, but it won't stop me. Liam and I have spent days after days fantasizing about a possible future where we can live freely. I can almost imagine it. It can be reality, Harry. We'd be free to choose what we want to do or be or say. Let's do it Harry. Let's throw riots and overthrow the Higher Ups. Let's recreate this city."

Harry flinches as Zayn reaches out to grab him by the shoulders, nails carving crescents into his skin. The craze in Zayn scares Harry, and he wants to run and hide.

"Zayn, no. We're not meant for this. We're not human." The same old statements tumbling out of his mouth again, the only weak line of reasoning Harry has as a defence.

Zayn's eyes bulge hideously, the veins threatening to pop. There's no doubting the disappointment that is apparent in his gleaming eyes. But Harry's words must have been the triggering statement though, because Zayn deflates immediately. His eyes dulls and spirit dampens. 

That night, Zayn leaves with a promise of a new world which he will single handedly bring about. He declares a new start for their country and a guarantee for a brighter future for them both. There's a trodden look on his face as he leaves the balcony and disappears into the darkness. It's the last time the two boys meet in a bedroom.

-

Harry is extremely distraught. He sits on a pile of garbage back at the city dumpsters, while his other mates start to slowly sort through more garbage. A frown pulls at his lips, something that Harry doesn't do often. He's more of a happy go lucky kind of person, if he were to be completely honest with himself. And this worry that's starting to bud within him puts him under slight terror, because for him to actually feel worried about Zayn, must mean that Zayn is really spiralling out of control. 

"Where to, Captain Styles?" Louis chimes brightly as he plops down next to the curly haired boy. 

There's a 180 change in the way Louis treats Harry. The air of pride and superiority has diminished to be replaced with one of cheerful intrigue and a kind of fondness that snubs out animosity. But Harry isn't right in the mood for playing because he's got a destructive Zayn walking the streets. 

Harry bites his lower lip in deep contemplation, his forehead wrinkling. His fingers pick at the trash that layer over one another, flicking away the small flecks of rubbish and turning each fist sized trash in his hands before tossing it away completely. 

"Nowhere today," Harry says. He earns a perfect Louis pout. 

"And I thought we'd be doing something more fun today."

Harry notes the disappointment - because really, this was the same guy who had called him a nincompoop for not calling him 'sir'. "Let's just," Harry makes a vague gesture to the area around him, "sit here for the day." 

Louis doesn't complain. Instead he scoots closer and sits next to Harry in perfect silence before he too, starts picking at the trash hill. He pulls out a box of paper clips and begins to bend them out of shape. When he bores of that, he tosses the whole box away, and begins to kick out his feet under him. "Something bothering you? My sister always got awfully quiet when there was something bothering her."

"Really?" 

"Yeah. Wanna talk about it?"

It's hard to deny such a sugary plea, but Zayn is his problem alone. So he shakes his head firmly and tells Louis that he can handle it. He's not sure if he really can though, so he gets lost in another loop of thoughts. He only jerks back when he feels Louis tentatively rest his head on Harry's shoulder, and Harry can't help the colouring that begins to spread up his neck.

Harry doesn't do anything about it, instead, he steals a glance at Louis and watches as Louis turns over the golden locket - that's sometimes there and sometimes not - over in his hand, the golden metal shining brightly under the sunlight. Harry's curiosity heightens, but he doesn't ask. Instead, his head clogs with recurring thoughts of Zayn running amok the cities, setting houses and humanoids on fire.

It's almost instinctive, but Harry finds himself reaching out and curling an arm around Louis' waist, an act of ownership to protect what is his. Not that Louis is his. He just doesn't want to lose Louis to whatever Zayn is planning. A shudder passes through him, and Louis makes a noise in his throat. 

Yeah, he's really worried.

-

He's absolutely right about Zayn because within ten days of their last meeting, Zayn becomes a nationwide most wanted culprit. His name is flashed on billboards, and his name is on the radios. His face is being printed over millions of copies of newspapers and the television screen his name at nearly every thirty minute interval. And Harry hates it, hates it, hates it. 

That night, he stays up forever, sitting by his balcony, hoping that Zayn would come to him to seek refuge. But when the sun peaks, and there's still no sign of Zayn, Harry fears the worst.

-

Louis is the first to pop the news at their work station. He sidles up close, with a rolled up newspaper tucked under his shirt and into the band of his jeans, held down by the belt.

"I probably sweated a whole lot of ick, and this newspaper is going to be soggy but don't mind that. You gotta see this instead," Louis says, his eyes glimmering with interest. Harry catches himself staring a little too long and mentally slaps himself, but damn, if those eyes weren't precious.

Louis unravels the newspaper, and true to his words, the papers are a little soaked through. The back page inadvertently tears in half as Louis tries to unfurl the mass stack. A frown tugs at his lips as he tries to peel off the wet layer. 

"Does the back page even matter?" Harry says finally, after Louis fumbles with the paper for a good five minutes and their troop had begun to head out under the guidance of a map. 

"Shush. It's gross and in the way," Louis replies and Harry can't help the smile that creeps up on his lips and has his him smiling like a fool. Louis is cute, and Harry, tired without sleep, lets such thoughts tumble through his mind past the barricades which he had constructed in order to keep himself from thinking such odd things.

"D'you know you're cute?" 

"What?" Louis jerks back and arches an eyebrow. There's no doubting the shy quirk on Louis' face though. Louis turns back to the paper, and peels off the back page, like a layer of onion. "There we go. Take a look at this news."

It takes two tries before Harry internalizes what he's reading.

His eyes bulges grossly as he reads the headlines. It's always a wonder why they have newspapers, Harry doesn't think there's anything that reads papers, watch television, or listen to the radios that play mostly static. But right now, Harry's kind of glad they haven't banished all the pointless media, because here, right now, on the front page of the newspaper, is a huge portrait of Zayn. The headlines are bold and red and read 'Rampant Robot Demands for Impossible' and behind Zayn, is a huge wall vandalised with spray paint. 

The camera flares at Zayn's eyes and there's the typical red-eye problem, but the hair and the features are enough to identify him by. The wall behind is splayed with the word 'freedom' in different fonts and colours, dotting up the wall like vines on a kamikaze mission to the top. 

"That's the base of the Higher Ups Department," Louis whispers in awe, a smile apparent on his lips. He radiates an aura of full respect and approval, a hidden pride that something in this city of dead - in this necropolis - had tried to change something. "This guy has guts."

"This guy is my friend," Harry breathes. His eyes hurt from all that staring and he's suddenly so, so tired. His voice clogs with a sudden desire to weep, but the tears don't come. He swallows hard, trying to dispel the constriction that suddenly catches at his throat."Did they catch him?"

Louis bites his lower lip and doesn't reply immediately. The smile wavers off immediately replaced with slight horror. He looks at Harry with a sad kind of gaze and then he whispers, "Hey, I'm sorry. Are you okay?"

"No," Harry says flatly before he just drops to his knees and curls into himself on the floor. He squeezes his eyes shut, the sully thud of his chest bringing a wave of dreariness over him."Devastation."

"Come again?"

"Nothing."

Louis hesitates for a few minutes as he watch Harry's mood swing in the offset. He watches as Harry buries his head into his lap with a sigh of broken emotions before he decides to seat himself next to Harry. He begins to gently tug at the head of curly brown hair, pulling Harry onto his lap. He cards his fingers through Harry's hair, trying to elicit some kind of emotion or response. But Harry remains pliant, unmoving, and just breathing.

Something in Louis hurts, and memories flood in. He uses his free hand and clutch tightly at the golden locket tied around his neck, fingers caressing the smooth metal. He hopes Harry will be okay.

-

"Louis, you said a few things the other day." 

Harry slept off practically the whole day away. He awakes to find himself lying across Louis' lap, body curled into a cramped up position and joints creaking in protest as he uncurls himself. His mind is heavy and feels pretty drugged up. But there's a single track of thought that's jogging his brain, making him think.

"Hmm?"

"Lou? Do you remember what you said about the sewage river thing?"

"The river behind the incinerator?"

"It's not really a river, Lou. It's gross. But that's beside the point. You said it could take us to the Higher Ups and all the prisoners they've kept. Do you think-"

"Harry it's dangerous." There's alarm creeping up Louis' voice, colouring his words to a high pitch. There's a silent plea in his blue orbs, but Harry is adamant and neither can quite remember when Harry had taken to call Louis 'Lou'. Harry wants - needs- to see Zayn though, make sure that the idiot is okay. He has to.

"Do you think I can find Zayn if I go there?"

"Is Zayn that important to you?"

"You have no idea."

-

Louis takes Harry back to the House. His fingers are curled around Harry's slim wrist, trying to will the other boy to realise the insanity behind those words. The trek is silent, and he can't help the lurch in his gut every time his mind wanders to the gushing foamy river filled with muck and oil. He can't picture Harry fighting the currents, wandering through the soiled water with pasty skin that is coloured brown with grime. He shudders.

When the reach the House, Louis takes a map from the inner office, and starts mapping out routes with a red ball point pen. Harry just watches.

"When will you go?" Louis asks, after he's folded the map and tucks it gently into the front pocket of Harry's jeans. 

There are several options to consider, and Harry knows it's safer to go at night then now, but time is a wasting, and anything could happen any time, anywhere. Harry casts his doubts aside, and touches the map with a finger before he lets out a deep breath."Now. I think I'd better go now."

"Harry, it's right smack in the middle of the day, you can't go now!"

Harry doesn't even try to win his way around Louis. On whim, Harry leans in and presses a kiss slightly to the right of Louis' lips and whispers his thanks. Harry's not even sure where that comes from, but he's read enough in Lit classes to understand what it was. 

He slips out of the House, map in his pocket and blind memory of the route to the river in his mind, leaving a stunned Louis behind.

-

The path is not easy. The water is gross and the stench is overwhelming, But he pushes on anyway. The water clings to his skin, and he's aware of the gross trickling of water around his waist and inner thighs when he finally climbs out of the river and onto a side ledge inside the duct chambers. He's glad he made sure to keep the map tightly clenched under one fist. The map is wet, but still readable and still mighty handy.

Understanding the map is a different problem altogether. He spends a good ten minutes trying to decide which way is up until he realises that Louis had written some comments, and the letters were indeed upside down. 

And finding the right route is trauma. There's nothing to mark the walls except Harry does the impossible, and he picks out white soggy paper that he found floating amidst the tainted waters before he slicks them up on the concrete walls as indicators. He's pretty sure no one frequents these parts of the town, lest there are people who were specialised with sewage as a job on Job Allocation. Not that Harry has ever heard of such a thing. 

An impossible amount of time has Harry pouring over the map, leaving the map creased and on the verge of splitting at the folding marks. He imagines the setting sun outside and above the sewage, the scent of fresh air and thick musk of freshly mowed grass. He's itching to get out of the sewage, that's so claustrophobic inducing despite the hollowness and wide spaces and echoes of rushing water. 

He finds Zayn almost by accident, as he walks down an impossible length of a branched off pathway. There are large, grilled rectangles that act as vents for water to flow down from an upper floor. It's interesting, and Harry does a whole lot of snooping, just peering into the rooms the vents lead to.

He's peering into consecutive rooms of exact replicas (vacant and all so small, the other grilled window perched high and just below the ceiling. Nothing else is eye catching save the awkward chain and loop that is attached to the wall and lying dormant on the floor like a cold stone), there's almost nothing within the first kilometre he walks - the path is seemingly never ending - and when Harry begins to doubt the route he's taken, he starts to see robots in the rooms.

Cells.

Prison.

The robots are all alike in one way. They're chained down by the metal loop on their leg, and there's an emptiness in their eyes that is different (and far more hollow, vacant and _lost_ ) from the emptiness of those walking down the street. They're lifeless, completely and utterly gone.

Then he sees Zayn. 

Zayn is in an olive green hoodie, his jeans are torn and bloodied, the blood drying into solid stains and hardening the material. But he's there and Harry feels his heart take flight. He rattles the vent, and hisses out to Zayn. "Psst."

He is, least to say, extremely delighted (and proud of himself) when he sees Zayn snap his head up, eyes wide with wild terror ablaze.

"Zayn! Over here. It's me, Harry."

"Harry?"

"Over here. At the vents. Just let me find a way in there," Harry pushes at the vents, trying to get the joints to move. The metal creaks and groans, and rust flakes from the corners. It's old and Harry's pretty sure he can bust that thing if he puts in enough strength. He leans his entire weight against the grill and pushes at it with his hands. It doesn't work much. But then Zayn tosses a chipped brick from where he sits, chained to the wall, and Harry squeezes his hand through the grills to reach for the dusty brick.

He can't get the brick through the grills though, so he comically pounds at the screws from the other side, his arm bent at a weird angle. He hears Zayn's laugh first, light and almost innocent, and that's enough to spur Harry on.

The vent comes off with a deafening clank as the metal splits where it has grown weak, and the vent comes away cleanly leaving behind nothing but sharp corners that dig into his skin and tear at his shirt and jeans as he crawls his way through the gap.

He crawls over to Zayn, almost giving him a full on bear hug but then stopping short when he becomes a little self conscious of the gross slickness of his clothing. Instead, he opts for a slap across Zayn's face, the sound of skin against skin echoes eerily in the hollow cell.

"Stupid, stupid Zayn," Harry scolds in utter desperation. "What were you thinking?"

Zayn blinks. But the words die on his lips because even he doesn't know the answer to the question. He's so lost and broken and scrawny, and goodness, Harry wants to give him half of his muscle capacity right now. 

"Stupid, stupid Zayn," Harry repeats. This time endearingly and he feels his throat catch again.

"What am I doing." Zayn is despondent and full of regrets. "I was thinking freedom, not failure. I didn't see this coming. Silly me, huh?"

"Silly doesn't even begin to describe our situation."

"My situation."

Harry doesn't argue, because as much as he would like to help Zayn, he's too afraid of being in the same position as Zayn. He's quite content on staying as an onlooker. An onlooker that's a little too involved in things, but not entirely. 

Harry stays and talks with Zayn as if nothing has changed. Catching up like they always do. Except this time, they're in a prison cell and it's not homely or comforting but so, so cold.

-

Harry doesn't make an attempt to move until Zayn tells him to go.

"They're coming to bring food soon, you'd better go Haz."

It's not like Harry wants to leave but he can't bring himself to fight or argue, so instead, he keeps quiet. He doesn't want to kick up a fight with Zayn, not after missing him for months and especially not when Zayn is already in such a state. But before he goes, there's a single question that's dying to be asked, and there's an equal desire for the answer to it. "Zayn, before I go. What will happen to you?"

"I don't know, Harry. I really don't."

Those are the words Harry takes with him as he crawls through the vent and returns back to the sewage. He paints the words across the cement walls, trailing a finger along the cold boundaries. _I don't know._ Harry hopes the Higher Ups don't terminate Zayn. 

-

When Harry gets back to the surface, his whole body soaked through with gross water, he finds Louis sitting by the rail, a makeshift campfire burning in the middle of dump yard in the chilly night. Harry has never felt his heart take flight so tremendously before.

"Hi," he calls out, raising his voice over the thundering sound of water and soft crackling of the fire. Louis turns immediately, and Louis' smile is one of the most precious things Harry has ever set his eyes on.

He climbs over the rails and rejoins Louis back on steady, dry land with no gushing water flowing around his legs and waist. He huddles up by the fire, trying to dry off and warm up. The weather is absolutely terrible and it's freezing, all his bodily warmth leaving as the wetness evaporates off his clothes. 

"How was it?" Louis asks quietly. 

"Good. And bad. I might go see him tomorrow again."

"Might?"

"Yeah. Might decide to stay here with you instead too." Harry flashes Louis a mischievous grin, a false façade that is placed carefully over his inner turmoil of emotions. Louis snorts but scoots closer all the same."You don't want to come too close Lou, I stink. And I'm grossly wet too."

"Doesn't matter." There's a bit of hesitation before Louis twines his fingers with Harry, and Harry's just so content on staying like that forever. His system goes on overdrive as their fingers slot neatly together, and Harry just hums quietly in response.

"Why'd you stay? You could have gone home first."

"I don't think you know your way back home on foot, nincompoop."

Harry smiles tentatively. Zayn seems like a problem miles away and Harry just wants to get lost in the moment. He dispels the niggling worry that's knotting in his belly as he curls his fingers against Louis' palm. He's pretty sure he could get used to this feeling of immense happiness that swells in his chest, giving him a warm fuzzy feeling.

-

Harry doesn't see Zayn the next day, and on the day after, he encounters Liam Payne in the most unexpected way.

"It's not the way I expected to meet you, but hello, I'm Liam. I know you're Harry. Zayn's given me your address in case I'd ever needed someone trustworthy to turn to. Zayn has always held you in high regards, he's always talked about the things you guys were up to, and this is really not the way I intended to meet you. But right now, I really need help and I don't know who else to turn to. So please, help me."

Harry stares. It's three in the morning, and there's a boy with sandy blond hair and too much social etiquette, standing outside on his balcony. Harry rubs his eyes, willing the figure to dispel, but when this Liam person doesn't disappear, Harry slaps himself awake. 

_Liam._

So this is the boy who's changed Zayn so much. The boy who morphed Zayn into an advocate of freedom and human rights, even when he had absolutely zero proof that they were indeed human. 

Liam is everything Harry expects him to be, and nothing like his imagination too. For one, he's too buff, and his voice is deep and smooth - kind of like creamy chocolate, as odd as that analogy sounds - but Liam has those soft copper eyes that reflect sincerity and shyness. It's all so becoming and unbecoming, Harry becomes a little muddled up in the mind.

"How can I help you?"

There's a pregnant silence, as if Liam's reconsidering his options. And Harry thinks, maybe this is all just a dream. But then Liam speaks again, and the words burn like drivel into his heart.

"I- can you help me get to Zayn?" 

There's so much earnest in his voice, a yearning, a longing that almost plagues like poison and Harry's quite sure that Liam's pretty much gone for Zayn as well. The desperation is transparent - too clear and overly pitiful. And every single bad thought Harry had ever cultivated of Liam immediately flies out the window. He immediately thinks of the sewage and the first journey to Zayn. He thinks of Zayn chained to the wall, a metal cuff around his ankle, locking him in place. 

"I don't think that would be a good idea."

Liam stares back. "You don't understand, Harry." 

"I do. And I-"

"I love him." 

The idea of love confuses Harry. How could something so small drive you to do incredible, fearless things. But then his mind overshadows with thoughts of Louis and he thinks _oh. That's what it is._

"And that is exactly why I refuse to bring you to him."

Liam balls his fists, and he goes pliant. Harry watches as Liam retreats into himself. He's at a loss, doesn't know what to do or how to deal with an angry Liam. So he stands there while Liam stays like a petrified piece of wood, and Harry twiddles his fingers absently, mind cruising through several thoughts.

"Why."

It's not a question but a statement. 

"What?"

"Why won't you let me see Zayn? I don't think you know understand my plight."

"I do. You love him, and Zayn most definitely loves you too. And I think Zayn wouldn't want you to see him in such a pathetic trance."

"Who cares what Zayn wants or does not want? He's going to die anyway, let me see him!"

Pause.

Harry recoils at those words, the words burning holes into his heart and tearing at the seams of his mentality. Zayn? Die? He's not sure how much these words ring true, but suddenly, there's a clawing in his stomach that is dying to see Zayn. He can't lose Zayn, not now, not ever. Guilt washes over him like a tidal wave, suffocating him and the only thought that's raging through his mind at the very moment is _I should have seen him yesterday._

Harry swallows. "Okay."

-

Harry leads them down the same path he had taken the other day. Ever minute, he's aware of the stench of the sewage. They push on anyway. He's guided by the sheets of paper still plastered up on the concrete, hardened into a white coating that would need a bit of nails to pick at.

And on their journey, few words were exchanged. And among them, there had been fragmented sentences like "I had a sister." and "She was like us." and "She was also like Zayn." and "I can't lose Zayn too." and "I'm sorry.".

Harry may not have been the brightest, but he knew enough to add two and two together and infer. He bites his lower lip in an attempt to block out his thoughts. He doesn't want to think of dreary and depressing things, not now since he's aware of Zayn's fate. 

When they near Zayn's cell, the drain that leads to Zayn's cell straight ahead, Liam stops. 

"Her name was Ruth," Liam says.

"I'm sorry, who?"

"My sister."

"Oh. I'm sorry to hear." Harry really doesn't know what to say, but there's a darkness that shadows over Liam's eyes and blackens his features. It's a whole level of seriousness and venomous hate that Harry has never seen anyone display before - it's a degree of anger that seems to know no limits. 

"They replaced her."

Harry is bewildered and he clearly understands why Zayn had said that Liam spoke in riddles. The things Liam says are nearly incomprehensible. 

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, she never came back."

"You mean she never came home? Like, never walked into your house again?"

"She came back. But it wasn't her."

"I don't get it." Harry would be lying if he said he understood, because he didn't. And all these riddles were making his head hurt. 

Liam shakes his head. "What I'm saying is that, they did away with her. Ruth could feel all kinds of emotions. And she found out that communication makes us feel, so she talked to me, dragged me out of my cycle of repetition. But one day she tried to stage a two-men revolution. It failed drastically, and the Higher Ups caught Ruth and her friend. She didn't come home for days, but the news about her capture was everywhere - newspapers and radios and television. 

"And one day she came home when she's not supposed to and she saw right through me, like everyone else. She was simply gone. I tried talking to her, but it didn't work like it worked for me. They replaced her Harry, with a genuine clone - except this one doesn't feel any more. Can never feel any more."

Harry quakes a bit, dismisses the thoughts that threaten to drown him in overwhelming information. Liam watches him expectantly. Hoping for something. Words. But Harry has none to spare - he doesn't know what to say. So he opts to say something that is completely irrelevant to the story he's just heard. 

"Zayn's cell is a little up ahead. We're almost there."

"Okay," Liam says. _Okay._

-

Zayn's cell is the same as the other day. Nothing new has been added new and everything was as quiet as it had been before. The only difference is that Zayn looks emaciated and Harry marvels at the thought of losing so much weight in just two days.

He peeps out from the vents, watching Zayn through the grilled bars, making sure no one else is there. When he's sure of that, he makes a motion for Liam to stay right where he is before he pushes at the vent and crawls through the gap once more. 

"Zayn, hey Zayn," Harry calls. He does a double take when Zayn turns though, because his motions are more than sluggish, and his golden eyes are now dull with pain and sadness. "Someone's here to see you."

As if on cue, Liam pops his head out from the vent hole and smiles shyly at Zayn. "Hi."

The effect on Zayn is almost instantaneous. His face colours with a healthy hue of blush and his eyes spark up a little with sheer joy. Zayn's voice trembles when he speaks, wistful and longing at the same time. "Oh my god, _ohmygod_. Li, you actually came?"

Harry shifts aside as he watches the exchange takes place. Liam is angry, happy and sad at the same time, and his face is a shape shifter in constant motion. They cling to each other, unwilling to let go and Zayn buries his head into the crook of Liam's neck, ignorant of the dirty water that clings.

"Haz, come give me a hug too," Zayn says. He's already wet and mucky from Liam, it wouldn't hurt to get another hug from someone who is equally as slick and stinky.  
As they embrace, Harry feels the bones in Zayn. The ribs are more prominent under the skimp of the hoodie, and his spinal cord presses against his skin in pure defiance, ruining the perfect curvature of Zayn's back. Harry pulls Zayn into himself, cradling the broken boy and feeling his heartbeat slow and steady against his. 

"Longing," Zayn says and on impulse, Harry responses with "What does it feel like?"

Zayn laughs, mirthless and airy, before he pulls out of Harry's embrace. "It feels like crap really. Like you want so many things and your heart - I still think it's a heart, Harry - just aches for everything you can't have and the people - yes, people - you can't see."

Harry dies a little inside as he hears those words tumble out of Zayn's mouth. He seats himself near Zayn as Liam pulls Zayn into his lap. They're such a mismatched couple, one overtly skinny and the other muscular. But they're so gentle with each other though, and Harry thinks he'll cry for them.

They stay like that for a while. Harry is quiet for most of the time as he watches Liam and Zayn share moments together. 

-

It's twelve o'clock when Zayn urges them to get out of the cell. The blue plastic watch strapped around his wrist is even looser now, and his wrist bones are hideously visible. Harry's aware that they've stayed over time, and he's pretty sure Louis would be looking for him, but he doesn't really care much about work right now. 

"Is it lunch time now?" Harry asks. But Zayn's wry smile is enough to tell him otherwise. 

"Yeah something like that." Except it's nothing like that, because Zayn's face pales and he drops the bomb on Harry and Liam, taking them both by horrible surprise. "I'm due."

In that instance, Liam yelps in horror, wringing his hands into Zayn's hoodie while Harry takes a little longer to make out what those words mean. 

"You're due. Does that mean that they're going to terminate you?"

"Exterminate me, yes."

Harry doesn't think he'll ever be okay again. No one says anything after that, two of them too shocked into silence and the other, a little lost for words as the truth finally sinks in. 

"I'm not going," Liam declares and Zayn's head practically snaps to the side, eyes wide with horror.

"Li, you have to go. They're coming at half past 12. If you don't go, they'll take you out too." 

Liam smiles, brave and determinant. Harry swears he's never seen a romance movie (not that he's ever seen movies, just short snippets in classes) as cheesy as the one playing before his eyes. 

"There's nothing left to live for if you're going down, Zee." 

Harry thinks he should leave the two of them to it so he clears his throat and looks at Zayn, firm gaze and all. 

"Zayn, I can s-"

Zayn cuts him mid sentence. "Please, I don't want to take you down with me. You're still okay. You'll make it through this. I'm a bit too far gone for this now, Haz. Save yourself."

Harry doesn't know what to say. He's torn between loyalty and want, he should stay by his friend's side, but then again, there's Louis waiting on the surface for him. 

"Just don't forget me." Zayn says. "Don't forget _us_. Harry and Zayn, two of us against the world." 

Harry swears he's about to cry.

"And don't forget Liam either."

Harry nods. 

He watches as Liam digs into his pocket and withdraws a golden ring that blinks in the dim lighting of the cell. It's the key ring Harry found months ago, and there are two blue cards looped through the ring. Liam tosses it to Harry, and Harry catches it in a split second. He turns over each blue card in his hand, two ID cards that belong to two boys sitting before him. Two boys who are walking into their grave. 

Harry offers a watery smile and says, "I love you. I love you both."

He disappears out the vent before he shifts the grill back into place. He doesn't go though, he stays seated under the grills on the cement sidewalk, waiting for the sound of the executors. He may not be game enough to die with his friend, but he'd stick with Zayn till the very end. Harry closes his fist around the plastic cards and shuts his eyes tight, trying to will himself into calm serenity. 

-

Harry wakes up to hear yelling and shouting, and it takes a moment to register where he is. His back is sore, pressed against the cold cement walls and his butt hurts from sitting a tad too long. He hears a throaty laughter coming from somewhere slightly overhead and Harry remembers about the execution. He wants to mentally kick himself for sleeping at such a crucial time.

Cold ice grips his core as he stands up to take a peek. Harry has perfect view of the door, and he watches as people of different size and shapes walk through that rotting piece of wood. There's a burly man with a long metal stick in his hands, and two other men clad in uniform. 

There's another man, or more like a boy. He's small built with wild blond hair and big blue eyes that are screaming silence. It's unintentional, but suddenly their eyes meet for a split second and a kind of circuit of understanding passes between the two. The boy is the first to look away. 

There's an exchange of words, shouting and laughing. The big man loads his metal stick, and Harry realises what it is. Gun, gun, gun, Harry's mind is a mantra on replay and he feels his body go even colder. 

"You're not supposed to have company, you sick boy." 

_Click._

"How did he come, aye?"

_Aim._

Harry swears the next part happens in milliseconds because he can't for the life of him exactly catch up with what his mind is seeing. 

Neither boys make a move to run, and Liam stands next to Zayn almost casually, fingers still linked. That is, until the bullet is shot. Liam moves immediately, lithe like a cat. He flings himself over Zayn from where he stands and takes the shot, the bullet tears through him and makes an exit wound through Liam's lower back, barely missing Zayn. 

Harry doesn't quite understand what just happens, but in that split moment, he watches as Liam turns to face Zayn, a whisper of thanks and love dying on his lips slowly. Then Zayn is howling, screaming, crying, as he curls around Liam's body, metal chain rattling horribly on the floor as Zayn tries to reach out to more of Liam. The bullets don't stop though, and each shriek and yell from Zayn is punctured with a bullet and when Zayn takes his last breath, he dies in valour resistance. 

-

Harry doesn't check in for work that day. Instead he sits away from the vent, hands clamped over his ears as the noise of the day echoes over and over again. He sees images of spurting blood and gaping wounds, and Harry knows for a fact that they are indeed not robots. There are no wires in them. There is only blood, and veins and a heart.

-

"Why do you always stay? You're only ever here to tell me off."

Harry doesn't want to be mean, but he's cranky on this very non-auspicious day. The horrors of the previous day had been mortally wounding and the images are still raw in his head. He can still hear Zayn's voice in his ears, ringing with its dreamy edge and hidden glee when he sees Liam. Harry's pretty sure Zayn is happy to go, leaving behind conformity and the likes.

"Well maybe that's what I'm paid to do."

"You get paid? That's something new." He really doesn't want to talk right now. He doesn't care if he's hurting Louis in the event of his coldness, but right now, he wants to hurt someone else or at least half the hole of emptiness that claws at his emotions- his centre being, _his heart._

"Why so cold today?"

"Shush."

"You're a troublesome, you know. Annoyingly defective, if I do say so myself." Louis is obviously pushing at boundaries, trying to get a reaction. Harry isn't offended in the slightest, but he snaps anyhow. He's just so tired, he forgets his place and soon the words are tumbling out of his mouth. He also realized how accurate his honest words are.

"Let's not forget that you're part of the flawed circle."

Louis narrows his eyes, a characteristic trait that Harry has grown accustomed too. It's a give away signal, I sign that he's hit a little too close to home, where Louis keeps his inner secrets. "There were only two problems with me, firstly, that I was always too curious for my own good and secondly, I messed with people with my once upon a time, sarcastic drawl. It was attitude the teachers couldn't handle, so they sat me down for a good one-to-one and I came out new and improved. No longer defective."

Harry doesn't quite buy it. For one, he doesn't quite think that a harmless one-to-one conversation was all the teachers had with Louis, it seems to Harry that there had been something more, something deeper that happened between those closed doors that made Louis want to be normal so badly. "You use past tense like it's no longer the case with you."

"I'm flawless now; another face among the crowd. I've learnt their trade, Harry. I'm seamlessly perfect. Maybe if you'd learn their trade too, you wouldn't feel the need to hide any more."

"Who's hiding? I'm not hiding. People generally don't notice me when I do something different. And the fact that you can actually register the fact that I don't follow the rules pretty much show that you are, in fact, not as perfect as you've made yourself to be."

Harry hits a chord with those words because Louis mashes his teeth together, and his eyes flare up. There's a burning rage that builds up in Louis and Harry stands up from his seat before wiping his hands down on his dungaree. "You know, Lou, I think you're missing another point of your defects. While everyone else faces a standard degree of anger - not me though, the normal beings, robots if you may - you've got a variety of it. You have livid, outrage, fury and acrimony all under your belt. Different degrees of anger. That's another defect in you. You feel variations of anger where others don't. You don't seem to feel much apart from these variations and the other standard emotions though. You're kind of normal, but far-fetched from it as well. Until you met me of course, you do realise that you've laughed before. You've also shown curiosity and worry, and normal robots aren't supposed to feel these things by default."

"Shut up," Louis snaps. He's trembling violently. "You'll never understand."

"I can try. And I can teach you to feel, I can show you that to feel is perfectly alright. Maybe that way you won't spend the rest of your life with pent up anger that seem to tear at you.

_Communication makes people feel Harry, imagine what it'd be like if we never met each other. We'd be like everybody else._

"And maybe being different won't seem as bad to you.

_Robots don't feel, that's what Liam said. But we do, so what does that make us? We're something bigger than robots, we shine brighter and think better, maybe it's a whole classification called Different. Or maybe we're human._

"I'm convinced, Louis. I'm convinced we're human." Harry's voice cracks at that and he feels the tears finally prick his eyes, and he utters the first guttural sob in his entire life as he recalls the sight of the bullets shooting through Liam, an airy 'I love you' escaping through his lips before he collapses at Zayn's feet. He sees Zayn howling in anguish, bent over, protecting Liam from further harm as fresh bullets pummel right through his flesh and all that blood that rips from their centre beings, no, their _hearts_. He remembers the things Zayn says to him, a galaxy of stars in his voice and dreams. 

Harry's not aware of it, but he finds himself screaming and crying and calling out to Zayn, desperation clawing at his throat. "Where are you Zayn. Are you happy now? Zayn, Zayn, _Zayn_ ," Harry cries over and over, curling into himself and crying. Because when had things gone so wrong for him, for Zayn, for both of them? He's so wrapped up in the memory from the previous day - so fresh in his head - that he barely notices Louis curling an arm around him and pulling him close into a tight embrace.

-

When Harry stops crying, his tears mellowed down to mere hiccups that send his whole body rattling, Louis removes his arm and tucks out the locket that he keeps hidden under his shirt."Harry, I've got something to tell you."

Harry is tired, and his eyes sting with the prick of wind against his dry eyes. But he listens anyway. He slouches against Louis, head resting on Louis' shoulder and eyes clenched tight, trying to drown out the world except the soothing voice of Louis. He's told Louis everything, what he saw and what he's heard. "I'm listening."

Louis tugs off his locket that gently places it in Harry's hand. The locket is a picture of a girl, she's younger than Louis, evidently and she's small built.

"That, Harry, is my sister. Was my sister. Phoebe. She's gone now. But I'll tell you what, she was younger than me by a year, so she's older than you by a year as well. She was always, always different. And she always got in trouble with the teachers at school. She was wild and fiercely passionate about bringing change. But she's half of a moon, because there are some emotions that are out of her capacity. She can never be angry. It takes a lot of her to understand what rage is, and she hates it when I get moody."

"Were you like, the other half?"

"Sort of. I was angry nearly half the time, with a profound curiosity that got me in endless amount of trouble. One day, the head master had me pulled out of curriculum to have a talk with me. I remember it clear as day, there were threats on how I had to control myself lest they do something to Phoebs. I never understood of course. I mean, I thought Phoebs got into more trouble than I did. I didn't listen to him though, so instead I went on with my ways. Defiant and noisy and horribly angry at most of the times and cheeky at the better half of times. I'd throw tantrums when I couldn't get a math answer, or I'd be cross when I scrape my knees. And all these emotions, they caused disturbance and it was starting to affect the teachers.

"The teachers start to see more. Interactions make these robots-"

"People. We're people, Lou. Not lesser beings anymore. I can attest to that." Harry shudders at his memory.

"Right, people. Interactions make people feel, so the more the teachers got involved with me, the more she could empathize. It wasn't good. One day, I got in trouble again and my teacher, Ms Baynes, bless her, she stood up for me. She said that students shouldn't be treated as such. So guess what, the head master sat down with me for a second talk and he brings in Ms Baynes. Then he draws a gun and shoots her square in the chest. He told me to control myself or my sister would suffer the same fate. I can't ever see myself being different again, because, what if someone else dies like that in front of my eyes? And all because I was unable to contain myself? I had to be normal Harry, that's what I kept thinking until you came along."

"Why didn't he do away with you straight?" Harry ignores the last bit, because his head is still in a fuzzy mess and there are just so many things to think about right now without getting his own personal emotions in the way. 

"I wondered that too. I never found out why though. Probably because I still had a chance to convert back to the norm routine. But then Phoebs went for Job Allocation, and turns out she was short-listed for the Higher Ups. Did you know? People who work as the Higher Ups are all restored their emotions? They're given ten days to pack and leave their old lives so they can continue to live elsewhere, with full emotions. And within those ten days, Phoebs brings back maps of the Higher Ups' buildings and she shares with me her experiences and everyday she tells me she wished I could go with her."

"What happened to her?" Harry feels his stomach pit. He sees where this is going, and there's a horrible finality he's afraid to hear. He can remember a mirror replica story, from another boy with messy brown hair and a shyness that captivated Zayn's heart.

"She went for freedom advocacy. She paired with another lady named Ruth and together they tried to bring the Higher Ups down. I'm not sure if she even knew what she was doing, she was never one to feel threatened or scared. She was always cheerful. Anyway, the two of them didn't succeed though. They were both put down."

"Did you see her again?"

"No. I don't think I want to. What dies should stay dead."

There's a painful silence and Harry curls his arms around Louis' waist tightly. He doesn't want to lose Louis, there's only one last person on earth he could bear to stay with. Otherwise, he'd much rather just go to his grave like Zayn. 

"I want to be an advocate of freedom too, Louis."

Harry's not sure what's come over him, but there's a fiery anger that's fuelling inside of him and he tightens his grip around Louis' slim waist. He knows his decision isn't spurred by the same dedication and passion as Zayn. His ideals are more for revenge rather than a true desire to break free of the mundane systematic routines of everyday.

Louis chokes. "But I just told you what happened to my sister and you just saw what happened to Zayn and his boyfriend-"

"Liam. He had a name and his name was Liam."

"Liam. Right. But there you go, they all died, lost, replaced. Whatever. Why do you still want to do this? Don't you see Harry? It's futile."

Harry clenches and unclenches his fist, fingers digging into his palm. He needs an alternative pain to take dull the throbbing in his chest. But that's something he has already made his mind up about. He's going to take over Zayn's role, whatever it had been. He's going to make a move, he's going to ruin the cyclic repetitions that everyone is accustomed to by communicating (and what other better way is there around it?).

"I'm going to do it anyway. Will you help me?"

And maybe the idea of living without Harry became too much for Louis, but in the end, he's reluctantly nodding his head and muttering "I'm in" softly under his breath. He must have shown the doubt that he's feeling because Harry's eyes soften and his gaze becomes loving.

"You don't have to do it, you know. I don't want to force you to do something you don't want to do."

"I'd do it for you, Harry."

"Do you trust me?"

"I do."

"Then I'll make sure you get out alive."

-

They start low and lame. Trying to kick up a storm by raising armies of people who would be willing to help in their escapade. Harry chats people up and tries to win them over, get them to think independently. 

The next day, he sidles up to a girl with flowing brunette hair and talks to her. 

"Hello."

"Hi. What's your name?" the girl replies. A conformist respond and Harry knows what he has to do. 

"Guess."

"Nice to meet you, Guess."

"No, as in I want you to guess my name."

The girl frowns. The first appearance of an emotion.

"I've never been told to guess before."

"Good. And what might your name be?"

"Lydia Hemms. How-" Before she reverts back to the usual conformist reply, Harry interrupts.

"Keep guessing my name. I'll check back on you later."

The two boys carry on like that for the next few days, chatting up people and getting them to think. There's quite a bit of buzz around the dumpster within the week and Harry's pretty confident that they will be the group of people who would bring about the change Zayn had been looking for.

It happens quickly and soon they have an army of people who are lost and confused but willing to walk into the unknown. They plan a revolutionary for two weeks from now, and Harry has it all sorted in his head. There's a thrumming pride inside of him and he looks up to the sky and wonders whether Zayn is watching.

-

Harry expends Zayn's supply of spray paint next. They plan on starting low - they plan on starting with vandalism. They have city maps drawn and planned out with the respective routes to take. Harry's quite sure that the entire band of people are pretty much at a loss of what to do, or why they're even doing it anyway. And as bad as he feels about dragging the innocent down with him, Harry carries on with it anyway. 

He splits the people into pairs and hands them two cans of spray paint per pair. There aren't many of them, so there are slightly more than enough spray paints to spare. Harry turns to Louis and says, "You coming with me?"

Louis nods, weighting down the can of spray paint in his hand, gauging the mass. "Where to?"

"We're going to finish Zayn's mural. The wall in the papers. The one you showed me."

Louis nods again. He doesn't even argue and Harry appreciates it. So he leans in and presses another kiss to Louis' forehead and says," I love you."

Louis smiles back weakly. The jitters make him incapable of speaking but he hopes Harry knows that he loves him too. The bad weather of dark clouds do nothing to settle his fear, and he's pretty sure the weather is promising of heavy downfall later. He's not sure how long it'll take for the spray paint to dry, but he hopes that the rain doesn't put their efforts to waste.

-

They're a sweating mess as they head out to the base of the Higher Ups. They taint the governmental buildings with blood red words that spell out freedom. Harry thinks of Zayn and how he must have felt doing it alone. 

They spell and spell and spell, letter after letter, until the whole governmental building is layered with writhing words of freedom. The words coat the building up to 6 ft high, where neither boys can reach, where they are unable to spell out tangible words. But it's enough. 

They sack the cans in a nearby bush before they run away

-

When the two boys are nearing the public domains, the signal hits. Sirens begin to scream bloodshot noises and the spotlights are shining down fiercely from the roofs of governmental buildings. 

Harry and Louis make a run for it. They don't get far before the storm breaks. And if they actually revisited the building the following day, they would see that half the things they painted had been washed away by rain.

-

The a signal alert that traverse across the whole nation late into the night. Someone doing late night patrols at governmental sites has been alerted, has seen the graffiti, has heard about the uprising. There's a warning issued out, patrols lining the streets; there's a price for Harry's head. The search lights sear into the distance from the towering government building of Higher Ups, and it burns holes into the grounds, burns holes into everything - trying to uproot the boy, the faulty boy with too many feelings, the boy who turned into an idealistic person.

Harry clenches his teeth, trying to hide from the spotlights and Louis trembles next to him. They're hiding under a bridge somewhere in the heart of the city as people march around town. He's pretty sure security hadn't been this tight when Zayn had gone wild. The Higher Ups must have been scared by the two consecutive outbursts, spiking security measures with one sole goal to take down the defective. 

There are footsteps overhead as uniform clad men pass over the bridge, searching. Louis curls against Harry, fear making him small and vulnerable to the world. Harry puts a protective arm over Louis, shielding him from seeing eyes and hoping so badly, that the men would pass by them. They don't though. One of them shoots a bullet down the bridge for safety measures, and Harry feels his heart rut painfully in his chest, threatening to burst with fear. Under his arms, Louis jumps and jerks as he utters a soft gasp of fear.

When the army of men pass on, Harry tugs Louis onto his feet and hisses, "Come on, Lou. We have to get out of here. Back home, yeah?"

"How?" Louis is beyond shaken, and he's too afraid to move.

"Stay in the shadows. Stick with me. Come on, the minute we get to the city area we can lose ourselves in the crowds."

They don't get far though, because as they run, a single spotlight catches them and a whole new signal is sent across the city. The sirens are alarming and loud, but no one really registers except for the men in uniform. 

Without hesitation, Harry rebounds for a detour and urges Louis along the way. He pulls Louis over to the drain pipes meant for the Higher Ups before plunging in to the sewage down below. They fall straight into the water and are soaked through instantly.

"Harry," Louis hisses, " this is bad, what are we going to do?" He keeps his grip on Harry tight, his fingers digging into Harry's skin. 

There's only the sound of rushing water of the sewage, water splashing as they attempt to run in the murky water. There's desperation straining Louis' voice, and he's so, so lost. His skin is wet with the rain, and he's not sure if he's crying with all this hysteria. Harry hasn't said a word throughout their entire escape since under the bridge, his heavy breathing the only thing audible from the curly haired boy.

"D-Do you think I was wrong, Lou?" Harry says, his voice a hoarse croak, threatening to crack and let the tears spill over. Because this is really not what he had planned and hoped for, he dreamed of possible happiness and freedom and plenty of sweet revenge on Zayn and Liam's behalf, but not all of this. Not running away in the sewage, trying to find an exit route, making a run for their lives. He should have seen it coming though, because if Zayn hadn't been lucky to survive, what makes him any luckier?

"Harry, no, no. That's not what I mean."

"Well, do you?"

His tone is sharp. They don't have much time left, they need to keep moving and Harry thinks - knows - that he's losing, his fight is almost over. But he won't let Louis know that much. He's fallen too far for Louis, too far to hurt him with truths. 

He turns and continues to walk down another tunnel, the water and disgusting gunk swirling at his feet, making his jeans cling onto his skin uncomfortably. Louis' fingers are locked tightly onto his wrist, knuckles turning white with the intensity of the grip. He tugs his wrist gently, leading Louis along. 

They don't exchange words - Harry too focused on getting them out of the sewers and Louis too scared. They keep walking, turning at corners, revisiting each path with clarity of the memory. Harry remembers the first time he came down, how he located Zayn's cell block. The second time, homeward bound. The third time with Liam and the fourth time, home alone. Everything boils down to this very moment, and if Harry has failed to save anybody up till this point, he's going to make sure that at least Louis would make it home alright.

They make it to the iron gates that lead out to the pounding river behind the incinerator, the toxic lake filled with oil blots and dead fishes afloat. The air is filthy with the stench of the garbage, but it's cleaner than the clogging smell of the sewer. Rain still pounds heavily outside, the roar of the rain masking all noises. Harry's vaguely aware of all the dirty water that is soaked up in his jeans, and he gags at the very thought of it. He hopes the rainwater could wash off some of the sticky water, but then thinks about how he's going to go back into the sewer anyway, so all that rain won't do much good.

"Can you make it on your own from here?" Harry asks, he's shouting above the thundering sound of rain and fighting to be heard over the crashing thunders. He gently pries off Louis' iron clutch on him. He massages each finger in turn before giving Louis' hand a firm squeeze and letting go. There's a tangy taste of salt in his mouth and he hates it.

"What?" Louis says, his mind faraway and slightly groggy, he's unable to piece together what Harry has just said. "What do you mean by that? Aren't you coming with?"

Harry shakes his head. His fight ends here, there's nothing else to do; he's done his revenge, his body is empty and wasted of emotions right now. He's finished. But he won't ever let Louis know that, because what if he still has a chance at living? What if he finds another way out? What if he can come back for Louis, and together, the two of them will get out of this place?

Harry swallows. It's hard to see Louis through the sheets of heavy rain - Louis' features are blurred by the rain and the droplets that fall into his eyes make his eyes water with dull pain. "I'll be okay, really. I'll go make sure they're led away so that they don't come here and get you."

"What?"

Harry repeats himself, shouting. He watches as Louis' facial expression changes, a slight shift in features from confusion to horror. Louis inches closer until Harry can see him perfectly clearly, see Louis' eyes wide with frenzy and panic. He reaches out and takes Harry's hand, squeezes them tightly before linking their fingers.

"Haz, no. Please, no. Don't do that, we'll make it back home safe and sound if we run for it now. We can even hide in that pile of quilts you hid in the first day you began work here." Louis is desperate, his voice taking on a horrified demeanor, because he can't lose Harry. He can't, he can't, he can't. 

"I'll be okay, Lou, promise." Harry digs into his pocket with his free hand and withdraws a key ring, a golden key ring without keys. He closes his fingers around the plastic cards that are looped through the key ring, holes punched into the corners. There's an added card to it, this card is green. He flips through the cards one by one, reading the words off every single card he thumbs through; Zayn Malik, Engineer. Liam Payne, Engineer. Harry Styles, Dumpster Aide. He gives the key ring to Louis. "Meet me tomorrow at the subway. You've got my ID now, and I can't clock in for work without it. Right. I'll see you tomorrow, Lou."

Harry turns to go, pulling his fingers out of Louis' grasp, he's eager to get out and away. To run and never look back. There's a sore ache his heart, he knows he's leaving the last thing that has ever mattered to him. He remembers Zayn the first time he brings up the notion of love in Harry's room, the street lights reflected up on his ceiling and they're side by side on his bed. How long ago it seemed, almost like an eternity ago.

Louis catches Harry's wrist one last time. "Harry, I-"

Harry turns into a kiss, smack on his lips. Louis leaning in, face scrunched up with focus. He cups Louis' face gently, thumbs caressing Louis' cheeks. He kisses back softly, sweetly, driving all his love into that first proper kiss that will burn a memory into them forever. 

When they pull apart, Louis has stars in his eyes, moonlight dapples in those blue eyes that reach for infinity. "I love you," he says and Harry's heart almost breaks. "And no. No Harry, you're not wrong. Not you. Never you."

Harry's head spins, Louis' words locking into his mind. That Louis trusts him, loves him even. It's enough to make him think his short life had been worthwhile.

"I love you too," he says, lunging in for a soft peck on the cheek. He doesn't stay around for more though, doesn't hesitate to turn around. He offers Louis his best sunny smile, dimples showing, before he slips back into the tunnels, leaving Louis behind.

-

Harry doesn't get far into the tunnel. He only gets to the central collection area where all the various tunnels converge, dirty water thundering from various drain pipes. He hears someone holler "OVER HERE!" from one of the pipes, before Harry is off, running in another direction. He has no idea where he's going, but he can still taste Louis in his mouth, and his head is light and fuzzy with exhaustion. 

He made it far into the pipe that leads to Zayn's cell - he didn't plan it out. He finds himself moving there instinctively, but he doesn't know what for. Harry sees light first, then a surge of hope explodes through his chest. Maybe he'll live to see another day. He thinks of Louis again, and his feet gains renewed energy and each foot plunges through the sheen of water. But running in water is tiresome, all the resistance leave his muscles aching and his mind is tunneled, single tracked - only thinking about getting out.

It takes him by a dull surprise when he feels something clobbers over the back of his head. He falls forward only to be caught by an arm that pulls him onto the side pavements where it's dry. His head is swimming and somewhere far away, Harry can hear someone say "I've got you, don't worry, I'm here for you."

The voice is familiar. It's soothing and lulls him. "Zayn? Is that you?" he gasps, his vision is blurring, he can't see anything except a clouding darkness and the bright orange of a sewage suit. He registers wild blond hair and horrified sapphire eyes before his vision goes completely hazy.

"It's okay, Harry. Everything will be okay," the voice says and Harry nods, pain shooting through his head with every motion. But then he remembers Louis and tries to protest weakly.

"But Lou-" 

"Shh, it's okay. I've got everything under control. Trust me, Harry, trust me."

The voice in his head is strong and it overpowers every other sense that tingles in his body. Something in him is telling him that something's not right, that this is wrong, that he should wake up. But something else tells him that it's okay, it's time to give in, he doesn't have to fight any more, he's succeeded and the rest is no longer up to him. Harry succumbs to the voice, caves in, and fades out to black.

-

Louis waits at the subway for an hour, scanning the sea of faces: all poker faced and stoic with no emotion for the world to read. They resemble the very definition of the living dead. He takes the subway, careful to slot himself perfectly into the rest of the population. He stands by the handle bars, and keeps his right hand locked tightly in place overhead, fingers gripping the handle with a white ferocity that he attributes to anxiety. The other hand stays in his pocket, fingers closed protectively over a cool ring of metal and plastic rectangles that fit perfectly into card slots in wallets.

The shuttle bus to the dumpster is a silent buzz of noise. The people who have been touched by Harry's foolish - and maybe not so foolish - campaign to ignite emotions in these 'robots'. He sits in the back row where he hear soft words exchanged and the occasional slip of Harry's name. Everyone is curious to know what happened and Louis can't help but taste the bitterness in his mouth when he decides that he'd rather exchange any one of them (or all of them) for Harry right now. It's quiet and he feels their eyes on him, like they're dying to ask a question, a desire for an answer at the tip of their tongues. Louis can't blame them though, he wants the answer just as badly as they do. He barely registers when someone calls out a morning greeting to him, light hearted, warm and friendly. He nods in return, eye bags accentuate his tiredness. He nods off to sleep as the shuttle bus continues to trundle way out past the city gates. He has a sweet dream of Harry and him together.

When they alight, he stops to tie imaginary laces because there's only one person he wants to talk to right now, one person who he wants to stroll to the House with. He's pretty sure he won't get any of that though, so he lags behind, waits for the others to venture ahead before he continues his gait to the House alone. He makes a detour to area A, to the first mountain heap of rubbish where he finds Harry running his fingers along the wooden figure of a doll that's been discarded. He keeps his hand in his trousers the whole time, fingers brushing a golden key ring.

He's on his way to the House when he sees Harry up ahead. His heart explodes with a new profound sense of joy and hope, and there seems to be an infinite high in his blood. He rationalizes that Harry must have taken the first shuttle bus before him, that Harry had reached early but hadn't waited for Louis on assumption that he had already left. Louis does a slow jog to catch up with the head of curls, falls in step with him and barely restrains himself from reaching out and touching him. 

"Morning," Louis breathes, his breath fogging up in the chilly morning. He tries not to let the relief show in his voice, but if there's one thing Harry has managed to do to him, it's the fact that hiding and dead panning is no longer as easy as it once was for him. Too many new emotions explored, too many new memories. Why not smile when you can?

"Good morning, Sir!" Harry chirps and Louis immediately pulls back to reality. His once upon a time, floating mind, suddenly pulling on the restraints of an invisible string that locks him in place to reality. 

Louis tugs Harry to a halt, and then studies the boy intensively; the sea glass eyes glossy and empty. There is no depth of intelligence anywhere, and it's dark on the other side. A goofy grin is splayed out across his lips, a show of retarded intellect and air headedness. Louis steels himself, because this is not his Harry, this is not who he had fallen in love with. His index finger loops onto the key ring in his pocket, fingers running along the surface of the plastic card that is pressed against his thighs. The soft curves and bumps of letters that form words. Harry Styles. He presses the flesh of his thumb against the bumpy letters, trying to force the letters to imprint a scar on his thumb; imprint the name of his lover on his skin. Louis forces down a silent sob, and then nods slowly to the fake Harry before they continue the rest of the journey in silence.

He immediately disconnects from reality the minute he steps into the House. The heater is up and there's a fine warmth in the atmosphere, the group of people warming up to each other, starting a new day. There's a vague 'coup d'etat' being mentioned somewhere, people who want change. All this inspired by Harry, a legacy's mark. Louis puts on his gear with mechanic ease, just like before. There's nothing to show on his face, but there's a whole whirlwind of emotions, a hurricane of sadness and torrents of grief, that digs into the depths of his mind. He locks out the world while he thinks and thinks and thinks until his mind chances upon a thought.

In the end, Louis thinks - knows - that Harry is out there somewhere. Because Harry can't die, he won't accept it. And he'll keep walking these lands, he'll keep searching until he finds Harry. The dull throb in his chest flutters alive with determination and all that runs through Louis' mind is ' I will find Harry.'

I will. I will. 

I will.


End file.
